For the next few paragraphs or so I am going to sound like some stupid little angst-filled teenage girl who hates the world. I do not, however, hate the world. No, at this moment I hate something much closer to home. Namely my mother. And I've had it. Had it with days and weeks and months and years and a lifetime of this crap. So now I'll tell you why, just to justify my resentment a teeny, tiny bit (not that it helps much-I know I'm wrong).
I hate her. She's the biggest hypocrite I have ever met in my entire life. Nothing is right in her eyes. Nothing. But can she make a mistake? No. Oh, heavens no! Heaven forbid that MOTHER could make a mistake. She can do no wrong, and if you say so, be prepared to have your head guillotined off with a blunt blade and thrown to the dogs.
So I can't approach her and tell her how her actions make me feel. I can't tell her what really happened, because it gets twisted to fit how she remembers it. She didn't give me the dance shoes because they didn't fit her anymore-I stole them. She didn't tell my dad and sisters it was okay for them to use the washing machine all day-I wasn't proactive in getting my stuff done during the rest of the week (and though she fights it, the laundry room was full the ENTIRE week and I couldn't do it at all until today, and it was MY fault that someone turned off the machine while my clothes were in it-not my sister's. She didn't suggest to me that I could take classes online-I did it so that I could monopolize the computer that has a printer. I'M always the bad guy. I'M always the one that screws everything up.
And so right now I'm being a petty, selfish brat and saying that I hate my mother. Chastise me, correct me, tell me that I'm wrong, because you're probably right. I know you're right. And I'll agree with you, but not right now. Maybe tomorrow. But definitely not now. Because right now-I hate her.